The Reeling
by Dollyrocker85
Summary: Anita Saunders finds herself thrown back to 1985 and working as a PA to DCI Jim Keats. Searching for answers she goes searching through CID archives, but will she find more than she bargained for. Our first fic so please be kind!
1. Chapter 1

**Ok guys. I accidentally deleted this story last week! Luckily it was all saved so here it is again. This was our first shot at fanfiction so please be nice. We own nothing...please don't sue us. Love Jeepster and Scully xxx**

**The Reeling**

Anita's eyes focused on the radio alarm that had woken her from her sleep; the time read 6.45 and Wham's 'I'm Your Man' blared out of the speakers, rudely waking her from a peaceful slumber. Normally she would smile to herself, a song that was in the charts in her childhood being dredged up and played again for its retro value, intending to take listeners back to where they were when it was first in the charts. However, she came right back to earth with a bump as a hopelessly cheerful Tony Blackburn chirped, "Good morning, listeners, it's a lovely June morning, and that was Wham with their brand new number one hit 'I'm Your Man'! Well done, guys!"...And there it was. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, but those moments of blissful ignorance were over for this morning anyway: it was 1985 and she was stuck there! She would have laughed at the absurdity of it all but she was past that now, past the hysterics (hysterics which had lasted a few days, actually), but now, weeks down the line, all she felt was abject loneliness. Sure, she was still in Manchester-her home town, the city she knew like the back of her hand, but she was a stranger to this version of it. Somewhere in this city there was a 2 year old Anita playing with her toys, annoying her brother and she could only pray they never crossed paths.

Sometimes at night, somewhere between waking and sleep she could have sworn she heard hospital monitors, the voices of her Mum and nurses, talking way up above her. She'd bolt upright in her bed, coated in a sheen of cold sweat, crying at the bewilderment she felt. She surmised that this was some kind of side effect to the coma, some kind of coping mechanism her brain had come up with in order to keep her sane whilst her body tried to fix itself. Only now, she couldn't recall what it was she was trying to fix or what it was that catapulted her here in the first place. She just hoped it wouldn't be too long before she woke up from this world because one thing was for sure, she didn't belong in it.

She'd never before truly appreciated the misogyny and inequality that her mother's generation had to put up with. After all, 1985 wasn't that long ago; it was the year of Live Aid and Bananarama for God's sake-but back in a dingy office in central Manchester, the 'cock and balls brigade' reigned supreme.

"Tea with two sugars, luv!" was the first greeting she acquired stepping through the CID office doors. She rolled her eyes inwardly _Fucks sake_, she thought. She had no idea why her brain had placed her here, must've watched too much X-Files on the telly, she guessed. But she was a civil engineer in 2009; why in the hell would she choose to while away her unconscious hours in this smoky, grubby den of iniquity? And furthermore, why the bloody hell would she choose to be a personal assistant to the DCI? Who, as it happened that morning, was notable by his absence. It wasn't like Jim Keats to be late; he was never late. Most nights she could swear he slept in that sauna of an office of his.

_Now, there was an enigma if there ever was one_, she thought to herself as she filled the kettle for the first time of many that day. Jim wasn't cut from the same cloth as the other blokes in the office. Barry and Trev, they were okay, she thought. They were just your average Mr Salford 1985- liked to show off when she was around, stared at her arse when they thought she wasn't looking. But Jim, there was something amiss with him, and in the last month since she started as his PA, she hadn't been able to put her finger on it. He spoke to her with the utmost respect, never ending sentences with patronizing pet names like 'luv' or 'sweetheart', and for that she supposed she should be grateful. However, instead of gratitude, all she felt was a deep sense of unease.

"Morning, Anita!" Jim's cheery voice startled her out of her reverie, causing her to drop the mug she was holding. "Oh I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Thought you would have heard me come in." Jim's voice was soft and apologetic. "Heh," she sighed in a flustered breath. "No, it's okay; my apologies, I was miles away." She started to pick up the pieces of the shattered mug, and before she knew it, Jim was helping her. "Be careful, don't cut your hands," he intoned in a voice that was too close for comfort. "Oh, don't be silly-I'll be fine, you go on through. I'll bring you a coffee," she replied cheerily, trying not to look too uncomfortable.

The day progressed mostly the same as all the ones before it. She mused to herself that she really must have a fertile imagination as this was oh-so-very, ridiculously real. The sights, the sounds, the smells- they all played on her brain as if she were really living this life. If only she weren't fearful for her life, if only she didn't miss her family so badly, she might be able to almost enjoy the journey, this day trip around the past. It had only been a month and already she found herself playing along with the game; she'd bought the NME on Wednesdays and perused the back pages for upcoming gigs. She was a little early for the Stone Roses, but she could still make The Smiths at the Manchester vs Cancer concert. Her heart missed a few beats at the thought of it. She must call Sue later and talk her into coming along.

Sue. She was another thing altogether, another crazy, silly little construct that her noggin had dreamed up. Sue had held her hair back for her in the pub toilets the very first night she'd arrived in 1985. Bewildered and alone, Anita, after a day of shouting and screaming and damn near being arrested, had decided that the only thing for it was to go to the pub with her new 'workmates' and drink them all under the table. This earned her mad props-'one of the team' status, even- but it was all rather short lived when she staggered off discreetly near the end of the night to throw up the 6 pints, 4 whiskey chasers and Bacardi and Coke. Anita wasn't sure who it was holding back her red tresses, only that she was grateful. After much dry heaving and staring down the unforgiving white of the cold council issue toilet, she turned around, not before wiping her eyes. "Aunty SUE?"

"God, you really have had a skin full, haven't you, luv?" There was a long pause as Anita assessed the young woman before her ; they must have been about the same age and they looked so similar they could have been sisters. Both women were about 5'6", both had the same blue eyes, the same size ten figure, and although Sue clearly had the advantage of a D cup chest, they shared the same flame red hair trailing down their backs, the same milk bottle white complexion. This wasn't a stranger to Anita, and it was all she could do not to collapse into a heap on her and ask to be taken home. Sue was her mother's younger sister, the one who spoilt Anita rotten when she was a kid-her favorite aunt.

"How do you know my name?" Sue enquired; she seemed to find this whole situation rather amusing. "Erm, I must have overheard. Anyway, sorry, thanks for looking after me just then." Anita's eyes gestured to the toilet behind them and went to wash her hands. "It's ok, I'm a trainee nurse, it's become second nature to me. Not sure I like it though!" Sue laughed as if she'd known Anita her whole life. "Seems like all I'm good for is cleaning up other people's sick!" Anita stood to face her. "Oh, no, no, no, no," some of the alcohol clearly still in her system."You, you're a fantastic nurse, you're brilliant!" Anita spoke with such conviction. Sue's brows furrowed, "How could you even know that?" Sue crossed her arms and dug them into her blue sweater. "Err...", Anita stammered. Great, Anita, how do you back track this, she thought."Well, just then, I was just a girl with her head down the toilet and you, you just waded right in there and held my hair back, I could have been anyone and ..." Anita's voice broke as she stared into Sue's eyes.

"Do I know you? Your...your face, it's really familiar," Sue interrupted, her blue eyes squinting as she tried to place the face before her.

Anita felt tears well in her eyes, willing, wanting to believe that in that moment Sue might know who she was, that she would throw her arms around her and tell her everything would be okay. She searched around inside herself for a voice and all she could manage was, "You will."

Sue did know her, though not in the way Anita had hoped. It turned out that Sue had been friends with some of the officers from the station. In their line of work their paths often crossed, and more and more Anita found herself sat in the corner of the pub after work with Sue, talking as if they had always known one another. She wasn't Aunty Sue anymore; she was Sue, 26 years old, and about the nearest thing to a friend Anita had.


	2. Chapter 2

Anita lifted the pile of suspension files and made the walk back to the filing cabinet outside of Jim's office_. Ah, dear old Windows Vista, I will never mock you again_, she smiled to herself. "Anita, a moment please?" Jim cocked his head around his office door. His face was stony and even more humorless than normal. Trev gestured jokingly towards Anita, pulling imaginary trousers down at her as she walked towards Jim's office.

She stepped inside; the stifling warmth from the three bar heater hit her and the whole atmosphere of the room changed. Jim's 'easygoing boss' exterior was gone, a fake, as she had always suspected it was. Before Anita could speak, Jim drew closer than was comfortable, using his 6'2" height advantage against her. "DI Billcliffe assures me he gave you the Camden report two days ago to pass on to me, and so far you've done no such thing." He was so close she could feel his breath on her face, the heat radiating off him as much as the fire at the side of her. "Sorry, Jim, but I've no idea.." she stammered. **"IT'S DCI KEATS TO YOU!"** he barked.

She felt a tinge of fear, followed by an even bigger tinge of anger well in the pit of her stomach.

"Well, _'DCI Keats'_," she spat, waggling her fingers in quotes for emphasis, " I haven't received any such document and I invite you to search my desk if you can't take my word for it, sir," she ground out through gritted teeth. "It is NOT my job to go sorting through some silly little dollybird's desk every time she loses a valuable report!" Jim's breath was hot on her face; in spite of herself she cowered backwards a little, hating herself for it. "Do you have any idea of the gravity of this situation Anita? Can you even comprehend how important this report is? See, while you are contemplating pop concerts and making friends with the lads, I am doing real police work; real, actual, important police work. Can you understand that, you silly tart?" Jim's face contorted from the normal, handsome, thirtysomething man in a suit to a snarling and unrecognizable entity.

Anita compartmentalized her fear and upset, pushing it further and further down until she could kid herself it wasn't there. This was all in her bloody head for God's sake, her invention; she wasn't going to be spoken to like this.

With that, she looked down at her black Clarks court shoes and shook her head, and ran her fingers through her hair as if to compose herself. For a moment she remembered Neil, her 'Guv' back in 2009 and one of her best friends in the whole world. The memory served as a reminder that she couldn't be farther away from home. She looked up at the tiled ceiling and laughed, possibly the most manic one she'd ever uttered.

"What is so funny, Anita?"

She laughed ironically.

"'Miss Saunders' to you, DCI Keats!" she said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. _AH!,_ she thought, _my metaphorical balls, there they are_. Keats stepped back with a smirk, surprisingly enjoying the show.

"As I was saying," Anita continued, "I've never laid eyes on that report. DI Billcliffe may well have managed to type up a few lines between getting what can only be described as s*** faced in the pub and shagging the blond from the typing pool. However, I can assure you, DCI Keats, that finished report has never, ever landed on my desk." The waggling of her fingers in quotation signs each time she said his name only served to ratchet up Keats' fury. "In fact, I reckon you can take this poxy PA job and shove it up your self-satisfied arse! I'm a sodding civil engineer, for God's sake, not an indentured servant!" Keats paused for a moment. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, calmer and quieter than she had expected. She gritted her teeth and swallowed. "I'll have my notice written out for you first thing tomorrow." With that, Anita spun on her heels and stalked towards the door. Then, as if powered by some unknown force, the door slammed shut, though she didn't detect any draft in the room. Her hand rested on the handle of the door and she struggled to hold in the tears that threatened to spill. She was so angry and frustrated, why couldn't she just go home?

Suddenly there were cool hands on her shoulders. Anita shivered and couldn't turn around. "Anita, wait." Jim's voice was almost caring, almost compassionate. She swallowed again, "It's fine DCI Keats, I understand, but I don't think this job is really for me." She managed to speak, her hand still trying to force the handle. His long, straight fingers reached towards hers. "I can't allow you to resign," he spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned to look at him, and his dark eyes bore into hers, her tears threatening to fall. "A..Anita, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I just had to see, to test you.." His hand slid from her hand up her arm slowly to cup her face. The look of understanding in his eyes took her unawares, and despite her better judgment, she found herself leaning into him and letting her closely guarded tears fall. "What do you mean, 'test' me? I've never seen that file, I don't have it." God, she hated the way her voice squeaked like that when she was upset. Why couldn't she just bottle everything up stoically like everyone else?

Keats continued to hold on to her, his hands sliding down to her upper arms. Anita sensed something changing in his touch, and started to feel uneasy again, "DCI Keats, I really think I ought to leave," she murmured. "No," was his only response as his grip tightened on her arms. There was a long pause as his gaze on her intensified. "You're..." she quavered, clearing her throat, trying to maintain control. "You're hurting me.." She broke his gaze and looked downwards, trying not to show her fear. His trance broke, "Oh! Dear Lord. I'm sorry, don't know my own strength sometimes," he laughed, trying to defuse the exchange. His cheery mask was back in place and he rubbed gently at her upper arms, still not managing to erase the red hand marks he left on them. Finally, he let her open the office door, but just as she turned to leave, she felt his hand take hold of her wrist. "Fancy a drink later? My shout, of course. We'll put this behind us, eh?" Jim smiled sweetly at her. How can a person's demeanor change like that so quickly, she thought.

Later that evening, she sat in the Railway Arms with Sue in their usual seats, just far enough away from the rest of the group for a private conversation. "I don't get it? He wants to buy you a drink, what's so bad about that?" Sue laughed, taking a sip of her white wine. "You don't know what he's like, there's something not right about him, he nearly snapped my arms earlier when I said I was going to resign." Sue scoffed at her. "Stop being so bloody dramatic, 'Nita? So a boss wants to buy his young and pretty PA a drink. Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs, then!" Anita stifled a giggle, she'd not heard her say that in so long. "Is he nice looking?" Sue's eyes narrowed as if she was trying to read her response. Anita shuddered and replied, "Oh, piss off, he's a suit! I'd not touch him with yours!"

"Chance would be a fine thing!" Sue fired back. "Come on, pull yourself together, what's the worst that could happen?" And with that, a shadow appeared behind Anita's right shoulder, a distinctly tall, familiar shadow. "Evening, ladies, not interrupting anything am I?" Jim smiled, a bottle of house white in his hand. "No, not at all! You must be DCI Keats, I've heard a lot about you," Sue chirped, a distinct glint of mischief in her eyes. Anita winced at the statement."Oh, please, call me Jim, I'm not at work now," he replied gallantly. Sue set about charming the pants off of Jim, and every now and again Anita would remember who this girl was sitting opposite her. Was this the same woman who'd taught her "Less is more, 'Nita-no need to put it all on a plate for 'im.." ? She had to smile as Sue twirled her hair in her fingers and beamed gleefully at Jim, occasionally touching the back of his hand when making an important point. Still, Anita was glad of the distraction; at least, if Sue was chatting him up, it took the heat off of her somewhat. In this context, Jim had become almost likeable; he cracked the odd joke and had no end of amusing stories to tell. All things considered, this was shaping up to be quite an enjoyable evening; well, as enjoyable as an evening can be stuck in your own subconscious listening to Adam and the Ants.

"Well, I'd better get off, early shift again tomorrow and Manchester Royal Infirmary will grind to a halt without me. It's quite a thing to be so needed, eh?" Sue grinned and downed the last few dregs of wine from her glass. As soon as she left, Jim turned to Anita and topped up her glass. "You'll stay a little longer, won't you?" His smile was warm and the atmosphere was good this evening, so she nodded, taking another sip. "I just wanted to say, Anita, I'm sorry about earlier, you've probably realized that I'm kind of married to the job, I find it ..." Jim's voice started fading in and out, her vision blurring. She'd not drank that much; three glasses at most...

She screwed up her eyes trying to regain focus, but the room began to spin, her body feeling heavy, shoes like cement bricks. "Are you all right? Anita, what's wrong? Anita!" Jim's voice seemed to be getting further and further away. And, just like that, everything went black.

She awoke in her flat, the 1980's flat with the battered beige sofa, the beige clashing furiously with the orange carpet that she assumed was a throwback from the 70's. Still, that was the least of her worries at the moment. Her heavy eyelids flickered open to the feel of a cold hand on her forehead. "Anita.." Her eyes struggled to focus, but she knew the soft but masculine voice straight away. Jim's voice. She wanted to ask what had happened but she couldn't manage more than a few incoherent sounds. Whatever had happened to her still had its grip on her. "You had a funny turn in the pub; the landlord thought you were drunk but I said I knew you and you must be unwell so I brought you back here." His voice was strangely soothing and he continued to stroke her fringe out of her eyes. She let her eyes drift slowly closed again.

She sensed Jim getting up and fiddling about with her hi-fi. He'd never struck her as a music lover, but she'd buy anything at this point. The music began, soft and familiar...  
_  
"Libraries give us power  
Then work came and set us free..."_

Her eyes shot open in an instant. _What?_ she screamed internally. It was the Manic Street Preachers-a band that won't form until early the next year, and, more disturbingly, 'Design For Life', a song that wouldn't come out until 1996. Her eyes focused intensely on Jim, burning into him and willing herself to find her voice to demand the answers that he clearly had. Jim swung around in one fluid movement, shrugging off his trench coat and settling his eyes on Anita lying helpless before him. His smile was still friendly but he looked almost exhilarated at the same time, clearly enjoying the position of power he held.

"Thought you'd like this, they're one of your favorites, aren't they?" Jim moved back towards the sofa again, resting the back of his hand on her cheek. "Preferred them before Richey left though, didn't you." Anita's eyebrows furrowed, her voice made a feeble squeak as she looked up in to Jim's deep brown eyes. "Everything will be okay, Anita, you'll see. You just have to trust me." Jim stroked her hand, gently caressing it in his own freezing grasp. _Why was he always so cold?,_ Anita asked herself through her haze. "Can you do that?" Jim brushed his lips lightly on the back of her hand and waited for her reply. She blinked slowly and nodded, it was the slightest of movements but it seemed to delight Jim no end. "Good," he beamed, "and no more talk of leaving us, 'ay? We're not letting you go quite yet."


	3. Chapter 3

Anita woke early the next morning, still fully clothed on the sofa, feeling like she had been trampled by a heard of wildebeests. She slowly rose from the sofa holding her head in her hands, and headed for the shower. As she let the warm water wash over her, fragments of the night before started to filter back. She didn't recall leaving the pub, it'd been a few years since she was so drunk that she'd lost parts of the night, but given the hangover she seemed to be having it seemed that this was the most likely scenario. She turned off the faucet and climbed out of the shower humming a familiar tune...

She entered the office to much jeering, hooting and teasing. She would now be known as the girl who could not hold her drink. She headed to the kitchen to make herself a much needed coffee, closely followed by Trev. "Hey.. 'ear you were well gone last night, luv, you passed clean out! How'd you get in a mess like that?" He smirked, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I dunno, I really didn't have that much," she replied. "Well, whatever it was, you're lucky no one took advantage. You should be more careful; if the Guv hadn't've taken you home anything could've happened." With that, she remembered waking up on the sofa and Jim's hand on her forehead. Her stomach sank a bit; God, she'd had such a go at him the day before, gone on at Sue about what a creep he was and here he'd looked after her. She felt awful. Trev piped up again, reiterating, "You should be more careful," Anita gave a wry smile in his direction. "Well, thanks for that, Pops, I'll watch my drink in the future." Trev shook his head in despair and walked out of the kitchen, not forgetting to call back, "And don't forget: two sugars, you cheeky mare!"

She stood outside Jim's office; in her hand was a peace offering of a cup of coffee and some bourbon biscuits on a plate. She knocked lightly and let herself in. "Morning," she smiled sheepishly. He looked up from his papers, his dazzling eyes made even bigger by his horn-rimmed glasses. "Morning Anita, how are you feeling?" There it was, the acknowledgement that she had gotten hopelessly drunk the previous evening. "Like I've been kicked in the head, Sir," she replied as she placed the coffee and biscuits down beside him, and he laughed at her, but without a hint of malice."Erm, I just wanted to say..." Anita paused as if choosing the right words. "Thank you for taking me home. I'm so sorry..." She stared at her shoes again, feeling like she was 12. "I know this sounds like a feeble excuse, but I really don't know how I got in that state. I didn't drink that much-I mean, you should know, you were sat with me.." Jim stopped her mid-sentence. "It's fine, Anita, just one of those things; glad I got you home safely." He smiled so genuinely that it took her aback. He looked almost... younger when he smiled like that. "You must think I'm SUCH an idiot," she sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk, suddenly feeling easier in his presence. "No, of course not!" Jim looked up from his desk brightly. "Besides, you can make it up to me." He smirked and took a bite of his biscuit. "I already do your filing, what more do you want?" Anita laughed. "Custard creams." He paused, trying to look serious. "I want custard creams every morning for a week." She rolled her eyes as a grin spread across her features. "Are you sure you didn't want Jammy Dodgers?" she retorted, "I [i]am[/i] watching my figure, you know." She giggled like a little girl, almost forgetting the splitting headache she was suffering as Jim watched her leave the office.  
**  
ONE MONTH LATER**

It was coming up on 6pm and the office was empty, apart from Gladys the cleaner and Jim tucked away in his office. Deciding to call it a day, Anita gathered the files together on her desk. Grabbing one too many, they fell in an heap onto her desk, accidentally pressing the intercom button to Jim's office. To her surprise, she heard two voices. She stared bemusedly at the phone; she was certain Jim was the only person she'd seen go in that office all afternoon. Let's face it; the man wasn't exactly overrun with visitors. "You said that you were up to the job, DCI Keats. After all that business back in London, I thought you would want to redeem yourself." This booming, authoritative voice was unknown to Anita. "Sir, you know me, you know I can do this. I just need more time." Jim sounded almost fearful, his normally solid and assured voice wavering. "See that you do, Keats. My patience, and your time, is quickly running out." With that, there was only silence. Anita quickly pressed the intercom button off and waited for the owner of the second voice to leave the office but he never emerged. Before Jim could leave the office, she gathered her things and left, deciding it was best to go straight back to her flat. It wasn't home, but it was the closest thing she had to one.

She sat in her flat that evening trying to make sense of the events of the day. What was the point? None of it made sense; her even being there made no sense. Her head started to throb, she longed for a moment's peace, just to stop thinking for a moment. She needed a break from herself.

There she sat, curled up on the sofa, tea in hand, gazing emptily at the television set. Some consumer programme blared out at her from the telly going on about a new interactive game you can play on your TV. Anita chortled to herself. _Well, who'da thought it?_ , she snorted knowingly. She didn't often let herself stop and relax; she was afraid of what she might do if she did. As it happened, she didn't have time- there was a knock at the door. Upon opening it, she was greeted with Jim's grinning face. "Come to check you're alright, I'm sat in the pub like Billy-No-Mates." He leaned casually on the door frame. "Oh God, am I so much part of the furniture now that you worry when I'm not there?" Anita exclaimed as she tugged on her oversized sweater. "Frankly, yes," Jim replied. "Oh dear, oh dear," she chuckled, smiling defeatedly. "Well, I'm just fine since you've asked, but I just thought a night in was in order." Anita shrugged and there was a pause as Jim tried his best to sway her. "But you're just sat moping up here?" Anita pulled back, annoyed. "I'm not moping, who said I was moping? Howard Stableford is telling me about the future of video gaming, I couldn't be happier!" She turned around and Jim was already wrapping her coat around her and leading her out the door. "You're my personal assistant; I need assistance." Jim laughed boyishly as he cajoled her outside. She feigned a bit of resistance but she knew that really he was pretty much all she had in this world and the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that she was all he had, too.

As the evening drew on she found herself glad that Jim had dragged her from the solitude of her flat. He was on form tonight, making her laugh with his stories about when he worked in London. She couldn't understand why she was the only person in the office who seemed to bother with him. She pretended she didn't hear the name-calling behind his back. Sure, he was a bit..._prickly _those first few weeks; first few months, even. But after the night he'd looked after her and taken her home, she saw a whole new side to him. Jim was funny, kind, and he listened to her; even when she was babbling on about something from the future that he couldn't possibly understand, he'd just sit and look at her, not a judgemental glance in sight.

It was her second trip to the bar when Anita felt a firm smack on her behind. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and prepared herself to put one of her beer soaked colleagues in their place. Instead, when she turned around she realized it wasn't anyone she worked with, but someone entirely different; basically it was Thatcherite yuppie trash in a flashy suit on a stick. "Evening, Red, how's it going?" He damn near dribbled getting the words out. "Great until about 10 seconds ago, actually," Anita replied, picking up the drinks and returning to the table she and Jim were sharing in the corner. "Everything okay? What did he want?" Jim looked concerned. "A smack, amongst other things...it's fine, don't worry about it," Anita shrugged, rolling her eyes and thinking no more of it.

Later, as she got up to go to the ladies', Yuppie Trash caught her arm as she walked past. "There you are again, Red, we really have to stop meeting like this." Mr Thatcherite w***er was clearly more inebriated than before. "Whatever. Get off me, you tw*t," Anita spat as she tried to walk away. But this guy wasn't taking no for an answer; gripping her arm tighter, he bellowed, "What are you going to do about it, 'ay?" He leered at Anita, ever closer to her face. "Is there a problem here?" Jim's 6' 2" frame suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere, dwarfing the smaller man; but the alcohol seemed to be giving this idiot a false sense of security. "Just let her go, mate." Jim tried to act casual, but Anita could sense there was something more simmering under his well-veiled surface. "Is this the boyfriend, then?" The drunken yuppie gestured towards Jim, getting in his face, alcoholic bravado clearly getting the better of him. "_Why the f*** would I listen to 'im? __**YOU **__back off, mate."  
_Jim's face dropped and there was something of a snarl as he stepped even closer to the smaller man, menacingly yet measuredly breathing into his ear. "Because this isn't going to end well for you if you don't," Jim said through a hardened jaw. And then, without warning, the drunken man headbutted Jim square in the nose. "Oh my Go...," Anita heard herself shriek as blood poured from her boss's nose. Without missing a beat, Jim caught the guy square in the jaw with an uppercut and had his arm up his back in seconds flat. "You, mate, have just assaulted a police officer in a pub full of coppers, you daft bastard, BIG MISTAKE! Goodbye greasy pole and hello Strangeways!"

After the Thatcherite twit had been processed, it was gone midnight. "God, look at your face!" Anita tried not to look too grossed out. "Come on, you, I've got some TCP at home, let's try 'n clean you up." He didn't offer up any resistance as she led him down the road to her flat.

Anita soon had Jim sat in her bathroom on the toilet seat. There was silence for a few moments as she dabbed at his nose lightly with TCP. She couldn't help noticing again how young he looked out of those glasses and that grey suit jacket. "Thank you," she said, in hardly more than a whisper. "What for?" Jim attempted a smile, but she could tell that moving his face was causing him to wince. "For looking out for me with that young Tory dickhead, you'd not be in this mess if it weren't for me." "Oh, so I'm a mess now, am I?" He raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Oh, you know what I mean," she rolled her eyes, "despite the exploding nose, you're still perhaps a bit of all right." Anita cringed as the words left her mouth. "Is that so? Well, might be worth it to get compliments like that from beautiful women, don't get compliments very often." Anita swore there was a hint of colour in Jim's cheeks. She was stood closer to him now, closer than they had ever been. "Ah, so the tall, dark and handsome look's not working for you then," she grinned. "See, that's the nice way of putting it, I'm more used to being described as 'pencil-neck'. 'Four eyes'." "Well, I've never heard anyone call you those names," she lied. "Don't lie," Jim replied. "Of course you have. Look at where you work. It's okay, broad-shoulders." Then, as they stood in the doorway to her bathroom, something changed ever so slightly in Jim's countenance as he looked down at Anita. Anita could feel the heat creep up her neck, around her ears, into her cheeks. She sensed the shift in him, and, closing her eyes, Anita tried to pretend it wasn't there. At the same time, feeling his breath upon her neck, she was finding herself strangely, uncomfortably, yet darkly drawn to him. Jim's hands snaked around her waist as she did this, in spite of her weak attempts to pull away.


	4. Chapter 4

Anita finally opened her eyes and looked at him. This didn't make sense. She shouldn't be doing this. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she was pretty sure that it wasn't a good idea to have a one night stand with the boss you have invented in your subconscious, especially someone as formidable as Keats. But he was so real; she could feel his heart pounding through his chest, she could feel the coolness of his hands threatening to draw gasps from her at any moment. His pupils engulfed his ever-darkening irises as he drew her closer. Could he really just be a construct? Nothing more than a few brainwaves left in a half-dead girl's dream? He wasn't even her type; he was a man in a suit, in horn-rimmed glasses, and a man who liked to line up his pens. _Oh, God_, she thought_, what is happening to me?  
_  
Before she could stop herself, she felt her arms rise, her hands barely touching him as she finally stopped, tracing one single line down his cheek. Jim held his breath and closed his eyes. His life had been his work for so long that solitude had become a way of life. He confessed inwardly that it had been some time since he'd been in this situation; the job made it almost impossible to form attachments. He tried to imagine the last place he was when a woman caressed him, and there was no recollection; an empty void sat in place of any memory_. This has to stop_, he told himself, _this job had to continue to its completion, no interruptions, no distractions._

He grasped Anita's wrist and pulled it away from him, but she was not about to let this go. She'd made up her mind that she wanted this, _needed_ this, and not even Jim could stop her. She pressed herself against him, shoving his back into the wall behind them. She couldn't help but feel a little drunk with the power, drawing a moan from his lips as she ground herself over him, feeling his first physical response. Waves of tremors shook through Jim's inner core like a flame as he acknowledged that he was on the edge of losing control. Anita felt him shiver beneath her; Jim closed his eyes, and she brushed her lips against his neck, resting them in the hollow just above his collarbone. She began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, her lips following, lightly kissing each inch of flesh exposed. Finally Jim could take no more. He could feel his carefully-constructed stoicism falling away layer by layer, a million jigsaw pieces crumbling to the floor beneath him. He looked savagely down at Anita, breathlessly uttering the words, "LET. GO."

Anita only slightly retreated from trapping him, but this was enough for Jim. In one fluid motion, Jim grabbed her torso and pushed her into the bedroom next door, pinning her wrists behind her as he forcefully pressed himself against her, Anita's head brushing the back of the wall behind her. "How long were we going to play this game, Anita?" Jim's voice had dropped an octave, and Anita's breath caught in her throat. She shuddered, closed her eyes, and breathed, "PLEASE." Suddenly Jim's mouth completely overwhelmed hers, fierce, passionate, and, to her surprise, almost unbearably hot. He broke their kiss for only a brief second to unpin her wrists and whip off both his shirt and her oversized jumper, revealing the most pale, most unblemished skin Jim had ever set his eyes upon. She couldn't move. Jim grasped her hips and pushed her onto the bed. His eyes were intense and almost angry as they raked over Anita, and suddenly she felt absolutely naked. She trembled slightly as his long fingers went to her collarbone and traced a warm line between her breasts. The gentle and tentative Jim seemed to have left the building. He wasn't holding her like she was a china doll now; she felt his teeth on her jugular as his hands made short work of her jeans. In an instant they were gone, leaving her in a flimsy pair of black French knickers which he easily circumvented.

His body covered hers almost completely. His hands slid down her body and quickly to the apex of her thighs. She knew she was shamefully hot and wet; she hated him to see her this aroused, especially by his own doing. "Do you know how long I have wanted to do this?" His look was stern and serious as if he almost resented her for making him wait this long. Still trembling ever so slightly she murmured, "No." He gently pushed the gusset of her knickers to the side and trailed his forefinger along the skin that laid beneath. "I have wanted to do this," his finger found her and pushed inside, "since you burst in to my office on your first day, demanding all sorts, not taking my orders, threatening me with resignation." She moaned in spite of herself, arching herself into him as he easily slid in another finger. "And I, I have thought about doing this every single day since." All Anita could manage was to softly groan. "Am I as you thought?" She clung to him, hearing only silence in return. With that he stopped, and it was all she could do not to beg him to continue. Suddenly she was aware of a ripping sound and she realised that in his impatience he had actually ripped her knickers off. This would have made her laugh if he didn't look like he would rip her head off there and then if she dared. Finally, after several seconds of agonising torture, his eyes burned holes into her as he removed the rest of his clothing. At last he positioned himself on top if her and the weight of him was wonderful. Before she had time to consider what was about to happen, he gave a sharp thrust and filled her to the hilt. He groaned loudly at the sheer satisfaction of it, of this auspicious victory, and she dug her nails deep in to his back as she reeled somewhere between pleasure and pain. He quickly set the pace, hard and fast. She gave her best to meet his thrusts. "Oh, God, f**k, oh Jim..." She wanted to speak more intelligently and with eloquence, but all that came out of her mouth was a stream of profanities. Still, these seemed to spur him on as his hips banged into her so hard she was sure there would be bruises in the morning.

He didn't vocalise himself, except for a series of the most animalistic noises she had ever heard. Every time he drove in to her she could feel the tell-tale tightening in the pit of her stomach, and for once she felt she had no control over it. Sure, she'd had hundred of orgasms before, but she'd always been able to pull herself back; with Jim, however, he was well and truly in the driving seat, and she could do nothing but surrender to his will. It was like she was travelling at a hundred miles an hour with no brakes. She looked up at him in a lust filled haze; his teeth rested on his bottom lip as if deep in concentration. His eyes seemed to focus on her, locked on her face, the agitation and ferocity seemed to melt away from him for a moment and she thought out loud, "You are so beautiful, so amazing..." Anita's voice was ragged but genuine. He pressed his hand into hers, pushing it back into the pillows and kissing her passionately while sneaking his free hand down between them to brush over her most sensitive place. It took only a few movements of his nimble fingers before she came, throwing her head back, uttering another blue stream. The sight of her like that, now knowing how she truly felt for him, combined with the feeling of her muscles clamping down on his unbearable erection threw him over the edge, and soon he was coming harder than he ever had before.

He collapsed onto her, trembling slightly, and Anita held him as tightly as she could, wanting to hold on to the moment as long as she could as they both tried to regain composure and their breath. After a few minutes, he moved to lay at her side and Anita tangled her legs with his. Jim wrapped his arms around her middle so tightly that she wouldn't have been able to sleep were she not so utterly exhausted. Despite herself, however, she found herself drifting off into a strange sleep.

_"There's no improvement, there have been no signs of brain activity for some days. We should have the family in.."_  
Anita opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She grew more and more frantic- she just wanted to tell them she was still there, that she needed more time but she was still there. They can't give up on her yet!

Flying out of this dreamlike state, Anita sat bolt upright in bed, shivering as she wiped the cold sweat from the back of her neck, tears welling up in her eyes. She looked over to where Jim had been sleeping only to find him gone. "Jim?", she called out. **"JIM?"** It was 3.45 in the morning, and she was once again alone. Anita sighed, desperation and longing for him in her breath, and laid her head back down on the pillows, willing sleep to take her again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Good morning listeners, another lovely Friday morning...the weekend is in sight!" Anita flailed about still half asleep, trying to find the snooze button on her clock radio. "Tony ...kindly f**k off!" she croaked. For a split second she paused, looking behind her. She was alone; her stomach sank to the point of nausea. For a moment she thought it might have been a dream but her body still ached deliciously in all of the right places and the smell of him was still on her skin, clinging onto her like a ghost.

"Jim," she called out, looking towards the bathroom, but she was kidding herself and she knew it. He was gone. She blinked furiously, trying not to feel utterly used. This wasn't the first one night stand she had ever had, and it probably wouldn't be the last, so why did she feel like someone had just twisted a dagger in her guts?

She forced herself out of bed and into the shower, catching sight of her own naked form in the mirror. Her skin was a tapestry of love bites, scratches and bruises; he may as well have signed his name on her in indelible ink. She ran her fingers over her hip bones remembering the feel of him, how good it had been. She hated herself for treasuring every last blemish on the otherwise blank landscape of her body.

She stood in the shower far longer than necessary; You can't wash away a memory, Anita, so don't even try, she sighed to herself. Closing her eyes, she let the water cascade over her face. Suddenly, the texture of the water seemed to change to a thicker consistency; Anita opened her eyes and let out a shriek-she was showering in blood; thick, pungent blood, and she was covered in it. Anita's hands grasped for the tap as her vision turned red. Squeezing her eyes shut, she coughed and spluttered, trying not to let any get in her mouth. Only it was too late; the metallic flavour flooded through her teeth. Anita screamed in horror, only to open her eyes and see that the blood was completely gone and only water remained. No traces were left; it was as if she'd imagined the whole wretched incident. She tripped over her own feet in an attempt to get out of the shower as quickly as she could, landing on the tiled floor with a thud.

"Sue, can you talk?" Anita stood barefoot in her kitchen, clutching the phone to her ear.

"Yeah, you'll have to be quick though, my shift starts in half an hour. What's the matter anyway, you sound strange!"

"Well, for a start, I think I just became party to a massive cliché." She twirled the telephone cord in her fingers, adding, "I shagged Jim and he was gone when I woke up. Can you believe that, the bastard didn't even stay until morning?" She hoped Sue wouldn't sense the upset in her voice, she needed to salvage all the dignity she could at this point. "So, uh, yeah! I shagged my boss! Germaine Greer I am not. And, to make matters worse, I am bloody hallucinating as well. What the hell is happening to me?" Anita waited for some sarky remark, or at least a request for the gory details, but there was nothing, only silence. "Sue, are you there, babes?" Anita yelled down the phone, but there was nothing, no ring tone, no background noise,_**silence**_. She hung up the receiver and dialed again, but the phone just rang out.

An hour later, Anita pulled up outside the Manchester CID offices. Letting herself in, she noted that Bernie, CID's resident skipper, wasn't at the front desk. Stepping though the double doors to the office, she began the long walk back to the CID office. Pushing through the double doors, Anita threw her bag on her desk and hung her coat on the standing rack. She went back, put on the kettle, and brewed herself her first morning cuppa. Anita began walking back to her desk when, one by one, line by line, each strip of fluorescent lights on the ceiling clicked off with an audible clanging noise. Anita dropped her mug on the floor in terror. (This mug-dropping was seemingly becoming a habit.) "Is this a wind-up, because if it is, you couldn't've picked a worse day. Seriously, lads. Knock it off!" Anita did her best to sound cocky and unperturbed, the exact opposite to how she was really feeling inside. "Am I missing a f**king trick here?" She continued, "...Okay, okay, you guys are jokes, I concede. _**Now bloody come out from wherever you are!**_" She was met with only silence as the madness continued, shutters flying down on all the doors and windows. Anita, heart racing, sprinted to the fire exit, only to find the door stuck fast. She struggled as hard as she could, but it wouldn't budge.

Then, as if by magic, everything flickered on, and all was back to normal. Anita stood in the middle of CID, a stupefied expression on her face. Trev bounded through the double doors, took one look at her and exclaimed, "What in t'bloody hell you starin' at, luv? Y'look like you've seen a ghost!" Anita could not reply. _Please, God_, she implored silently, _get me out of this mess.  
_

LATER THAT NIGHT.

Anita, still creeped out by the events of earlier that day, was at the office late, working on that horrifically long DI Billcliffe report. Keats, who still hadn't mentioned, or, for that matter, even _acknowledged_ his "dine-and-dash" he'd pulled the previous night, had unceremoniously dropped more paperwork on her desk that he insisted be completed posthaste. She was hard at work when Jim quietly entered the office. "I see you're up late as well," he commented. "I was getting ready to kick off for the day; you should, too." Without looking up from her paperwork, Anita curtly replied, "You wanted these completed ASAP, so I'm obliging your request. See you in the morning, Jim." She continued on with her revising, her concentration unbreakable. So unbreakable was it that she barely noticed Jim, still staring down at her, had removed his glasses slowly, putting them in his overcoat. She didn't even notice when he edged ever closer, perching next to her on the edge of the desk. The slight shuffling of papers when he did so made one of her pens drop to the floor; Anita looked up with a start.

Jim reached out a hand and gently stroked her hair. "You've worked so hard today, perhaps I set you with too much. I apologise; sometimes in my haste to complete these tasks for the boss, I lose sight." Jim continued as Anita stared at him almost hypnotically, his caress relaxing her mind. "I've been keeping close tabs on you these last few months, and I must say your work ethic is second-to-none. Your loyalty and diligence has not gone unnoticed and must be rewarded." Anita looked at him quizzically. "Rewarded? How?" Keats replied, "I feel that a..._promotion_ is in order. How do you feel about that, my dear Anita?" _Now THIS I can do_, Anita thought. She was so excited about a possible upward move that she all but forgot her irritation at him. "Thank you, Jim! It is well appreciated. When will I be privy to the details of said promotion?" Jim replied, his eyes once again darkened and formidable. "NOW. You will know...**NOW**" Anita was intrigued. Jim held out his hand to her. "Come with me. Let's venture downstairs so we can process the paperwork and you can start right away." Anita joined hands with Jim as he led her out the double doors of CID.


	6. Chapter 6

Anita and Jim soon reached the downstairs portion of the station. He held the door open for her as she walked through to the lifts that would presumably take them to the processing department. They stood facing one another; Anita could feel Jim's eyes melting into pools of lust, and she felt as if her knees would buckle from the way he was looking at her. He drew closer, embracing her; drawing the folds of his overcoat around her, he pressed her against him. It was familiar, intimate, and extremely erotic. Aching for him since the night before, Anita felt as if she would orgasm from this alone. "Ohh...Anita," Jim breathed against her ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down her spine. "We are an incredible team, you and I...even more than that...oh, so, so much more than that..." Anita was clouded with nothing but want, longing, and need. So much was she intoxicated by his energy that she didn't notice Jim reaching out and pressing the lift button. The doors flew open, emitting a glowing red light. Anita turned and looked towards the open lift. "Everything you want, everything you've ever longed for is just down that lift. I can give you so, so much more than what you've been promised here." Jim continued. "You see, _I'm inside you."_ Oh God, did she want him inside her, she thought. "These strange occurrences that have plagued you ever since you've been in my care...the voices from your past, the life support monitors beeping away in your head, the blood that flooded your mouth when all you wanted to do was scream, the darkness you experienced today..._they're all real_." Anita pulled slightly away from him. "Wha...what you mean?" "These sights, these sounds...the nightmares you have, I can make them all go away; I can cleanse your mind of this pain and give you the life you so badly deserve..." The lift emitted a slight heat when it first opened, but now the heat threatened to engulf them both. Anita began to feel sick, revolt washing over her in waves. She backed away from Jim's embrace, taking a few tentative steps backward. Jim, sensing her panic and not wanting her to get away, lunged at her, grabbing a fistful of her Titian hair. Anita cried out in pain, her hands pushing into him. "Get off me!", she screamed, but Jim only tugged on her hair harder, bringing tears to her eyes. In her struggle her hand slammed against the pocket of his overcoat. Her finger was pricked my something sharp inside. She grabbed his lapel and retrieved the offending object. Soon, a look of horror crossed her face. It was a cheap fashion earring, like something you'd expect to see on Pat Butcher; they were the exact ones she'd teased Sue for wearing. "That's...that's Sue's. That's Susan's, Jim? Where did you get this?" She looked up at Jim questioningly, not quite willing to believe what she already knew. He never loosened his grip on her he just stared back at her waiting for her to connect the dots in her head."Who are you, Jim?" Jim eyes continued to burn holes into hers. **"I SAID, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, JIM?"** At that precise moment, the tannoy system above made a deafening screech that caused both Jim and Anita to wince and cover their ears. Anita's already pale skin turned positively ashen as the opening riff to 'Design for Life' started to play. In one instant, the events of that evening all those weeks ago flashed in front of her eyes. She remembered Jim standing over her while she was incapacitated, playing this song in her flat and talking to her about things he couldn't possibly know. Anita's lip trembled in fear as she struggled to find her voice. "What have you done with Sue?" Her voice sounded childlike as her eyes became round, pupils dilated. She didn't want to believe it. Jim stepped back a little, smiling. "She had to go away. She'd been here far too long, just like you." "What did you do to her?" Anita shrieked, staring at Jim accusingly. He scoffed at her ignorance; it was taking so ridiculously long for her to work out what had happened, and patience had never been his strong suit. "Me? I didn't do anything; I just sent her on her way, that's what I do." Anita closed her eyes at the realisation that Sue was gone, a tear escaping down her cheek. "You unimaginable, sick, depraved bastard," she said softly, tears infusing her words. Jim smiled smugly at her insult. "Oh, Anita; silly, silly Anita..." He stepped closer to her, only nanometres separating them. "I'm just doing my job."

Anita took the first opportunity now that Jim's countenance had relaxed slightly and fled, not daring to look back. She ran up seemingly endless flights of stairs, tearing haphazardly around the sprawling offices and the labyrinth of corridors, trying in vain to put as much distance between herself and Jim as she possibly could. Soon, her pace slowed as she passed an old dingy room labeled 'Constabulary Archives'. She glanced behind her, making sure Jim was nowhere to be seen; she then let herself into the poorly lit room. _Surely everyone should have a personnel file in here, right? Even Jim, _she thought. But the task seemed endless; there were quite literally hundreds of files in this room. She set about opening each drawer in turn, running her finger tips over the labels. There were so many labels here, each one a person, and far, far more persons than could ever have possibly worked here in this station. After a while, Anita sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, ready to give up. Why did she expect anything to make sense in this world, anyway? She didn't even know if Jim was his real name. A cold shiver ran through her.

Anita sat on the floor a few moments more. Suddenly, something caught her eye from behind the radiator in the far corner of the room from where she was sitting. Crawling closer, she noted it was an old box file; it was faded, battered, and someone seemed to have stuffed it behind the radiator long ago with no care for its contents. She blew the dust and cobwebs off of it and sat the file on her knee, carefully opening it. Inside was a man's signet ring, old, misshapen and plain. Anita slipped it onto her thumb for safe keeping. There was a paper file within it as well, and as Anita opened the yellowed folder she gasped, eyes wide. Scrawled on its cover and in faded blue ink was the name "James Keats". The date stamp read 1957.

The first thing that caught her eye was an old newspaper cutting dated Thursday, January 17th; the paper was brittle and fragile. "The body of Police Constable James Keats was found by an elderly gentlemen near the Salford to Manchester canal early Tuesday morning. Early reports suggest that this was a gangland, 'execution-style' killing. Investigations continue and autopsy results are pending." Beside the text was a picture of a young man, beaming with pride in his police uniform, looking no more than 20-something years old.

The next document she picked up was a coroner's report."Cause of death seems to be a single gunshot wound to the head at close range; however, there is a catalogue of injuries that appear to have been inflicted pre-mortem. From this finding, we can only presume that there was a significant period of torture before death occurred." Anita suddenly realised that tears were obscuring her vision; her hands shook as she glanced over the black-and-white post mortem photos; pictures of a body on a cold metal slab, littered with bruises and cuts. Anita stared at them, bewildered. _Jim...dead...yet alive, and beckoning me to stay with him forever...but __**where? **__Me...was I caught in a limbo? Somewhere between death and life as I lay in that hospital bed?_ At once, waves of nausea took over from the shock of not only what she'd learned, but from the conclusion that she drew. Anita barely made it to the only bin in the room, where she retched her guts nearly inside out. Sweating, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she crumpled on the floor and began to softly cry. "Jim...," she breathed through her tears.

"Yes." Anita jumped out of her skin as Jim was stood in the doorway, looking both manic and smug at the same time. "Been playing detective, have we, Anita? You know, you really ought to leave that to the professionals." He stalked toward Anita and crouched down beside her. "What do you have there?" Jim looked genuinely intrigued as he reached a hand out to the box file on her lap. "No!" she cried trying to hold on to the file, "Jim, PLEASE! NO! Oh, God, Jim...please don't! I can't let you do this!" Anita pleaded with him desperately. Jim scoffed at her and grabbed the file she was clasping to her. As he did this, the file flew open, its contents scattering across the concrete. The first thing he saw was the picture of his mangled body on the mortuary slab. Jim's eyes squinted in disbelief; he shook his head in disbelief and confusion. His hand went to the news paper clipping, "No," he murmured, "No, no, no, no, no...," he rambled, his voice gaining in both strength and pitch. Jim looked at Anita with wild eyes before throwing the box file at the wall behind her. He then set about the room like a nuclear explosion, throwing over filing cabinets, smashing his fists into the walls over and over until they bled. Jim then screamed the most primal, life-sapping, bloody scream Anita had ever heard. This was truly the most terrifying she had ever seen him. As a old tape recorder flew past her head, missing her by millimetres, Anita knew she had to run. Jim didn't even notice as she fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

She waited outside for what seemed like hours, listening to the sounds of Jim dismantling the room, distraught at the realisation of his own reality. Then after a while, the room seemed to fall quiet. Anita opened the door gingerly, scared of what she might find. At first she didn't see Jim; her eyes fell first upon the floor where the box file landed. And then she saw him: James Isaiah Keats, born August 23, 1935...dying at the hands of killers January 15th, 1957. He sat before her now, a shadow of the powerful force she felt just moments ago; what remained was a broken, bloodied coward clutching a photograph of himself. His eyes were red, raw, and his breath was ragged. Pathetic, pitiful, shameful, _**weak.**_


	7. Chapter 7

Anita dared to sit opposite him, but just far enough away that she could make a run for it if need be. She looked at him in earnest and searching for words, but what comfort could she possibly offer him? Instead, to her shock, he was the one to break the silence. "You know, Anita... I heard so many times before: "This place makes you forget." " Jim spoke slowly and measuredly, his eyes never moving from the photo in his hand. "...And do you remember now?" Anita's whisper wavered, still wary of his reaction. "That was my first day on the force," Jim replied, picking up the shabby newspaper cutting and tossing it on the floor bitterly. "My Mum took that photo on my box Brownie camera." Anita attempted to smile through watery eyes. "She must have been so, so proud," she said softly. "Yeah." Jim spat the words seeming to stick in his throat, "She was."

Jim continued. "It was all right for a few years. George, my Guv-he took a few backhanders every now and then, I didn't see the harm. Then he asked me if I'd give him a hand; he'd gotten into bed with a local gang and they offered him a significant back hander to turn a blind eye to some bank job they were planning. It was a two-man job and I'd get a cut. More than the money, though, I wanted George's respect, he'd taught me everything I knew; I worshiped the bloke." Jim sighed as he bowed his head, hands clasping his head like a vise.

Anita looked at the signet ring on her thumb as she listened intently, daring to utter, "What happened?"

"The blag went wrong. Very, very wrong." Jim rubbed his eyes and pursed his lips, "It ended up with the kingpin gangster Harold Teller doing a 10-year stretch in Broadmore. They knew someone had informed on them; the plan was too water-tight, so it had to be someone on the inside. One night I left the pub and set off walking home. Suddenly this van pulls up out of nowhere, the man inside asking for directions. Before I know it, there's a bag over my head and I'm being put in the back of the van." His voice was incredibly steady, given the revelations he was relaying. "They took me to a disused warehouse near Bolton, tied me to a chair, put a gun in my face and started demanding answers; they wanted to know how much information I had leaked. Of course I couldn't tell them anything. I didn't know anything, and I was too wet behind the ears to know how to lie convincingly." He told the story as if he were speaking of someone else. "They started with my fingers; once they'd broken all of them, they settled for punching me in the head." For the first time Jim's voice wavered and he ground his teeth. "When I passed out they'd throw cold water on me to bring me around and start again; **THREE DAYS, ANITA**," Jim looked her dead in the eyes."Three days before they decided that I was a lost cause, and oh, believe me, by that time I was, and do you want to know the punch line?" He grimaced through tears, his face contorting in pain. **"I wasn't the informant, George was!"** Anita knew he would probably dissolve at any moment, but despite her concerns she reached out, wiping the tears from his face with the palm of her hand.

He leaned into her hand for a few moments, "Anita, you have no idea what I have done, no idea who I've become, no idea what I am capable of." Jim looked up at her; he was so tired. "I laid there dying...and a man appeared... an older man..." He stared off for a moment. "He was smartly dressed in a suit and a trench coat...he told me that if I agreed to work for him for a while I could come back, I could have another shot at it. I was 22 years old, I wasn't ready to die, Anita..." Jim looked at her pleadingly. "So I agreed. I found myself here. And I worked; I did everything I was asked to do. I kept at it until eventually, I started to forget what I was doing it for, and what was worse, I started to enjoy it." You could have heard a pin drop in the room, the silence was deafening. Anita's eyes searched his face and plucked up the courage to ask in a weak whisper,"**Who are you?"**

Jim paused as if to consider his answer. "This." he lifted his hands and gestured to the files that lay strewn around them. "I collect people...for my boss; people...souls...I hand them over to him." Anita couldn't hide her disgust as she recoiled in horror. "All these files Anita, they're people. Once-living human beings." His eyes welled up again. "And me?" she squeaked. "And you, yes; I was supposed to take you to him, too, but like the others, you had to go willingly. I would shift the cosmos to change your mind, play upon your every desire and weakness; but, in the end, you always must go of your own will."

Her head was awhirl with hurt and fear. "All this time, Jim..." Anita struggled to breathe. " ...Last night...that was just part of the trick, was it...**WAS IT,** you sick bastard!" For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of hurt flash across his face, but she continued. "**Why?** Why did it take you so long? I've been here two months and we've worked together every single day..." Anita's voice trailed off, worn to the core.

Jim faced her, looking straight into her eyes. "Would you believe me if I said it was because..." He paused, not prepared for what would soon come out of his mouth. "...Because I knew when it was over, I would never see you again?" He sounded almost human again-a tortured soul rather than a minion for Evil. Jim then searched her face for some indication of how she was feeling."Why would I? All you've ever done is lie to me, Jim!" Anita's voice was a mix of bitterness and sorrow. Jim tried to interrupt. "No, I haven't...please, you don't understand..." There was desperation in his eyes for the first time. "Not all of it, not most of it, even _**I**_ couldn't keep that kind of deceit up for that long..." She faked a laugh at his reasoning. "I admit at first I had every intention of handing you over like the rest of them but ..." she shook her head unwilling to let him speak, "I was lost here Jim" her voice wavered with emotion, "I had no one, I laid there every night worrying that somewhere my mother would be told there was no hope for me and that she had to switch off the machine that was keeping me breathing?" her voice rose with agitation, "and you, you were my only constant" she pursued her lips trying to compose herself, "I trusted you, and you f**ked me over just like your Guv f**ked you over!" beaten by the emotion she finally let her tears begin to fall, "What's more" she pointed an accusing finger in his direction, "It is in human to be so cold! **Are you even human Jim**?" Jim's face seemed to contort with the sting of her words, "It's because I am human that I couldn't do it Anita! I don't get a smack on the wrists for this, or a sodding disciplinary! They'll come for me, and they won't stop until I'm just another file in this bloody room! I'm done Anita." His eyes were red raw brimming with angry tears. To her surprise she found it almost unbearable to see him this way, so sad and so defeated. She only meant to reach out her hand and rest it on his but as soon as they touched Jim grabbed hold of her and pulled her over to him to rest on his chest. She didn't pull away, letting her arms wrap around him she sobbed quietly until his shirt was soaked through, drawing a shaky breath she spoke in a tiny voice, "Am I dead Jim?"


	8. Chapter 8

Jim didn't answer; he only laid his cheek upon her head. Anita closed her eyes as his hand stroked up her bare arm to find her hand, stopping on at the signet ring she had placed on her thumb hours earlier. Upon sight, this drew a smile from him."That was my 21st birthday present," he murmured, letting his fingers play over the tatty gold ring. Anita suddenly felt odd by his admission and went to give it back to him."No, no." Jim placed his hand over hers to stop her from taking it off, shaking his head slowly and sternly. "Thank you." It was her only reply, spoken in barely a whisper.

Suddenly, their moments of relative peace were disturbed by the most almighty crash. The sound of doors slamming seemed to rattle through the entire building. "What the hell was that?" Anita sprung up off Jim's chest in a flash. Jim's face was grave and resigned."Reinforcements," he sighed. Jim began to get up, taking Anita's hands and pulling her to her feet. "What do you mean, 'reinforcements'?" Her eyes darted to the door. "They know I'm not going to hand you over; they'll have worked it out by now, so they're coming for you...and me, probably." Taking her by the hand, Jim lead Anita to the stairs; as they sprinted up flight after flight, Jim intoned, "Don't look down, Anita; just keep going." She did her best to follow his orders, but couldn't help hearing the unearthly sounds from below that seemed to be getting slowly, but surely nearer to them.

Out of breath from the climb they found themselves on the roof of Manchester CID. "What now?" Anita turned to face Jim, the wind whipping her hair. She waited patiently for Jim's answer. "You have to go home now." His voice was still strong but his eyes were red and sore; she could sense the fear in him. "What are you on about? I can't go home, I'm stuck here, like you!" Taking her hand, he pulled her gently towards him. Without a hint of resistance, Anita slipped her arms tightly around his waist. He stroked her face with the base of his thumb and watched as her bottom lip began to tremble. Before she could utter a word, he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't like before; it wasn't forceful, it wasn't dominating. It was soft, sweet and somehow Anita knew it was goodbye.

Before long, two men in beige trench coats burst through the roof door. "Anita Saunders: I have a warrant for your arrest." The man speaking had features that were strange and grotesque; almost an _imitation_ of a human being. "What? For WHAT? I've not..I've not done anything!" Anita protested, trying to wrest herself free as the second man pulled her arm up her back and reached for his handcuffs. Her legs kicked and flailed; Anita screamed in terror, but she was no match for the two entities; no one could ever be.

Amidst the scene before him, Jim looked on, his face pained, his already sore eyes threatening tears. He drew a breath and tried to compose himself. In her fight, Anita saw him slowly go to his waistband and draw his gun. He slowly raised his arm, and she made the sickening revelation that Jim's gun wasn't aimed at the henchmen, neither one of them. It was aimed right at her chest. Time began to grind to a halt. Was this it? The final betrayal? "Jim!", she cried in disbelief, her shoulders dropping as if to give up the fight."No," she pleaded, softly, sadly, tears clouding her vision. "Don't do this to me...not after all this." Anita's eyes searched his for a glimmer of hope, but all she found was resignation. "I'll never forget you, Anita. Never, ever." Jim drew a long breath; his eyes closing tightly as his trembling hand pulled the trigger.

Anita was flung back with the force of impact; she stared up at the sky above, breath slipping away. The last thing she ever heard was Jim's voice yelling fiercely, "Don't take another step! Stay away from the body!..." Anita's eyes closed as her vision faded to black.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Anita became aware of was music; faint and distant, but defiantly there...and it was getting louder.

_" Libraries give us power..."_ The Manic Street Preachers once again filled the room as she attempted to filter through the haze.

"I can't believe it, they told us to give up," Anita thought she was hallucinating. _...Mum? __**MUM**__? _"Yes, it's quite miraculous, Mrs Saunders. Her brain activity seems to be pretty much back to normal. This is a far better outcome than we could ever have hoped for." Her eyelids felt like lead and her mouth was dry, but she struggled to wake up.

Anita then felt a warm hand in hers. "Oh, sweetheart, are you there?" She could hear her mother's voice; God, how she had longed for that voice. "We thought we'd lost you, but I knew you'd come back to me." Anita blinked as her eyes focused on her mother's face.

Before she knew it, her Mum was chirping on like a child on Christmas morning. "Oh, my little girl," she said, clutching at Anita's hands as if she might slip away again. "We played you music, they said it would help; you know, something familiar. The Manics on repeat drove your Dad loopy but I wouldn't let them turn it off." Anita chuckled weakly, rubbing her eyes. "I never want to hear them again, Mum," she croaked out, her voice sounding alien to her.

Later that evening, she sat beside her mother on the hospital bed. Her eyes scanned the room; everything looked so.._new_, so stark. She gazed out of the window, noticing the line of smokers huddled up against the cold outside. Her mind wandered to Trev and Barry, puffing away on their Benson and Hedges all sodding day back in the office. Her Mum reached for her hand and held it between both of hers. "Where were you, sweetheart? Where did you go to?" Her mother's voice was soft and curious. Anita turned her head slightly and bit her lip, considering what she was about to say. "I was ..." She paused, looking tentative. "..Somewhere else, Mum." "Where, luv?" Her mother's eyes were wide, the same blue as Anita's eyes. "It wasn't so bad. Well, for the most part," she replied, her voice rising. She remembered the nights in the Railway Arms with Sue, looking on as Barry and Trev tried out the most unbelievably bad chat up lines on every female that walked in. "It was like a dream, I suppose..." she concluded, "but a very real dream, there were people and I had a job. I missed you, but I wasn't alone." Anita surprised herself as she spoke; there was a pang of sadness within her. Her mother brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It was just a dream, you know. You've always had a fertile imagination, you, even when you were little. You'd wake up in the middle of the night and swear down there were monsters in your room. But it wasn't real, luv, none of it. You're home now." She smiled as if to reassure her mother. "I know, I'm just tired…" Her mother nudged her side playfully. "Only you could be tired after sleeping for two n' a half months, Anita! I'll leave you to rest; I'll be back in the morning."

She sat alone for a while, watching the sun set over the city centre; it was beautiful. Home at last. Why, then, did she feel so empty and alone? She was quickly startled from her reverie by a nurse at the door. "Anita! Your things!" The young nurse, no more than 25 years old, held up a clear plastic bag. "Thought you might want them, we've been keeping it all in the safe for you since you were admitted." Anita thanked her and set about sorting through the NHS issue bag. There were her flat keys, mobile phone, a wallet still containing her debit card, and, more importantly, her Blockbuster membership card, a pair of skinny jeans and her old faithful Joy Division t-shirt. She held it up to the light and spoke out loud, "Been through some scrapes together, you n' me." As she pulled the t-shirt over her head, just longing to feel something familiar a glint of something shiny caught her eye from the bottom of the bag.

She couldn't believe her eyes, it was an old, battered, misshapen signet ring that would only fit on her thumb. Anita stared at it, unwilling to believe her find. She removed it from the issue bag, and upon inspecting it closely, she noticed an engraving on the inside. 23.08.1956. Anita gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, tears once again stinging her eyes as she came to the stunning realisation that he'd _saved her_. He got her home. Jim Keats' last defining act was one of love; he'd sacrificed his soul for hers. In those last moments, Jim knew they'd lied to him. He didn't have a future. And furthermore, how could he possibly atone for what he'd done, the abject atrocities he'd committed? He knew he couldn't; all he knew was that he loved her violently; she'd created stirrings in him that had never existed up until her arrival in his universe. Moreover, he couldn't let her pay for his undoing. And, with that painful realisation, he gave her the life that he could never have.

Anita slipped the ring on her thumb and returned to gazing out of the window with longing in her heart, yet feeling strangely less empty than she did before.


End file.
